Pretty Scars
by Unicorn-Anonymous
Summary: Take the knife and draw it across your wrist. Watch the blood as it drips, drips, drips. As the dark blood drips ever so slowly. Cut a bit deeper, just a bit. Then you can watch the world fade away into nothingness. Drip, drip, drip.
1. Chapter 1

**I AM ALIVE AT LAST.**

**I AM FINALLY UPLOADING SOMETHING ON MY NEW ACCOUNT.**

**IT IS A MIRACLE.**

**Anyway, I'm writing a The Amazing World of Gumball fanfiction. This idea popped into my head, so I just had to write out an experiment chapter that no one saw except for my cats. And I really enjoyed writing it, and I kinda like the way it came out, so BA-BAM. (YES, IT'S GUMBALL X DARWIN. DON'T LIKE THAT PAIRING? GO AWAY AND READ SOMETHING ELSE. GO~. LEAVE NOW~.)**

**So this fanfiction has humanized characters because I can, and some OCs are thrown in here. I normally wouldn't add any OCs, but I have to with this storyline. I can't just stick to canon characters with this fanfiction. **

**Trust me, there's gonna be two that play slightly significant roles, but the rest are there just for background.**

**DGHJCLIHIHCJHFIOJPFN:LJZFJOFOPJ**

**Oh! And everyone's older in this, too. :3 The plotline could work with the characters' current ages, but it'll be easier with them being a few years older. **

**And I am finished with my ranting. Enjoy this . . . this! **

**~DISCLAIMER~**

_**I do not own The Amazing World of Gumball, nor do I claim to. I only own this storyline and plot, some of the random characters that I've thrown in here, and the human designs that I've given the canon characters. **_

_**THE END.**_

* * *

I'm so tired right now, it's ridiculous. I've never been so tired in my entire life.

I let out a groan, and I set my felt-tipped pen down on the smooth, metal desk that I'm sitting at. I push my chair back, causing it to squeak loudly. I wince at the harsh sound.

My ears begin ringing slightly from the squeaking noise. I lift my hands up and rub my temples. I stand up, pick up the pen, and walk over to the bed in the center of the room.

I sit down at the foot of the bed and stare down at the pen in my hands. I hold out my wrist and press the pen's tip to one of my smaller scars.

Of course it's a damn _felt-tipped _pen. I don't get a regular pen, dammit! I can't do anything with a _felt_ pen! It's not pointed enough; it's too soft.

I move the pen away from my scarred wrist, leaving behind a small black ink blot. I throw the pen onto the floor, and then I lay down on my back.

Stupid pen. It's stupid . . . So stupid . . .

I roll over onto my side and curl up into a small ball. My eyes flutter closed. Very slowly, I drift off to sleep.

**. . . .**

Someone pounding on the door to my room jolts me awake. I sit up, staring over at the door. I watch as it creaks open, and Marie pokes her head in.

"Dinnertime, Gumball!" she says, pushing the door open the rest of the way. She balances a small tray of food in her left hand. From where I'm sitting, I can see a paper cup that's most likely filled with water, mashed potatoes, and some sort of meat.

Marie walks over to me with a sweet smile on her face. I almost return the smile.

I sort of like Marie. She's one of the nicer workers here.

"You looked tired, Gumball. Did you just wake up? Did I wake you up?" Marie stops beside my bed and sets the tray of food in my lap.

I shrug. "You did wake me up, but it's-"

"Oh, dear! Did I? I'm sorry about that, sweetie!" Marie exclaims, interrupting me.

"No big deal." I look down at my food. It looks disgusting, but that's to be expected; the food is always disgusting.

"I know you say that, but it's a big deal to me." Marie sits down beside me. "That medicine does keep you up at night, doesn't it?"

"It-"

"Oh!" Marie cuts me off again. "Speaking of medicine . . ." She points to an oval pill by my cup of water.

I almost tell her that I refuse to take the medicine tonight, and then I remember where I am. If I do that I'm liable to stay in this place even longer. So I pick up the pill and the paper cup. I pop the pill into my mouth and take a drink of water, swallowing.

The pill seems to lodge in my throat, and I feel as though I'm choking.

"By the way, I was told to tell you that you're moving rooms first thing after breakfast tomorrow morning."

"Wait, what?" I stare at Marie's wrinkled face, surprised. "As in, moving in with someone else?"

"Of course. The doctors have decided that you're ready for more socializing and such!" Marie pats my head, ruffling my hair. "You also begin eating with others tomorrow, and you get to join group therapy! Dr. Alaamr wants to start seeing you personally the day after tomorrow. And you're going back to school, too! Well, in a way. You're going to be joining one of our sophomore classes. There's also a few other activities that you'll be participating in here. Doesn't that sound exciting?"

It takes me a moment to process everything that Marie has just said, but once I do I restrain from rolling my eyes. "Sure, _exciting_," I mutter sarcastically.

Marie doesn't seem to detect my sarcasm. "Anyway, eat your dinner!"

For some reason I haven't been able to eat alone. Something about me and my "fascination with pointed objects", I believe.

I begin to eat. Chewing and swallowing, but not really tasting. It's not like there's much to taste, anyway. Marie tries to engage me in small talk as I eat; only I make it clear that I'd rather not talk at the moment.

I finish eating quickly and hand the tray to Marie. She smiles that sweet smile of hers and then stands up.

"Alrighty! Well, get a good night's sleep tonight, Gumball. Or at least try to." Marie walks over to the door. "Good night!" She leaves the room and closes the door behind her. The lights turn off.

For some reason the light switch is outside of the room. I can't possibly imagine why it's out there and not in here.

I let out a sigh and lay down on the bed. I pull the thin sheets over myself, curling up.

So, apparently the doctors trust me enough to let me socialize with all the other people here.

And that means forcing me to move to a different room with some _lovely_ teenager. I now get to eat with all the other crazy people here, too, and I get to share my _personal_ issues with those same crazy people. Plus, I get to see some doctor. I also get to go to school for the "mentally unstable" and get to do other activities.

Goodie.

Although I am curious about the other "activities" this place has to offer. I wonder if we're allowed to use sharp objects of any kind. Because if we are, I could "accidentally" cut myself with one of them . . .

I quickly decide that that's not going to happen. Who would give a bunch of "mentally unstable" teenagers sharp objects? These doctors may be idiots, but they aren't _that_ idiotic.

I roll onto my back, gazing up at the ceiling.

And, for the first time since I've gotten here, I allow myself to think of Darwin.

* * *

**BWAHAHAHA.**

**THE END.**

**THE END OF CHAPTER ONE.**

**XD**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoyed! If you did, please attempt a review or something. I don't necessarily need them to continue with my stories, but they're nice to see! o3o **

**THE LLAMAS ARE COMIN'.**

**THEY BE COMIN', YA'LL.**


	2. Chapter 2

**YAY  
UPDATE  
HOORAY**

_**DISCLAIMER:  
I do not own The Amazing World of Gumball, nor do I claim to. I only own this storyline and plot, some of the random characters that I've thrown in here, and the human designs that I've given the canon characters.**_

_**THE END.**_

* * *

Someone's screaming. It's really high-pitched and annoying. I am really tempted to track down whoever's screaming and slap some sense into them.

Chris, the worker that's escorting me down the hallway, tightens his grip on my shoulder. I wince a bit, but Chris doesn't seem to notice. Or maybe he does and just doesn't care.

He stops abruptly by the double doors that must lead into the cafeteria. I glance up at Chris and then look over at the double doors. Chris lets go of my shoulder.

I lift up a hand and tenderly rub my shoulder. Chris had _way_ too tight of a grip on it. Completely unnecessary if you ask me; I don't try to run off like the other "patients" do.

"Someone will escort you to your room after breakfast is over," Chris says gruffly. I nod once in response, and he turns and walks away.

The sound of loud talking is slightly muffled by the double doors. From what I can tell, these people are very social despite having so many issues.

God-fucking-dammit.

I had assumed that everyone would be antisocial. And why wouldn't they be? I mean, I'm in a psych ward after all.

I place a hand on the double doors. I'm really tempted to find my way back to my room and hide in there. However, I ignore the urge to do so and push the double doors open, stepping into the cafeteria.

Two girls that are standing about two feet away from the doors, talking, look over at me. One's sickly thin, and the other's face is all pale and blotchy. They both just stare at me.

I avert my gaze away from the two girls and walk past them. I glance over my shoulder to see the skinny girl pointing at me, whispering something to her friend. I look away once again and walk as quickly as I can over to the line so I can get breakfast.

I cross my arms over my chest. I _really_ want to go back to that room now.

"Hey . . . hey, hey! Hey, y-you!" I look up to see a child who looks about thirteen or so. He grins when he sees me looking at him. "Hi . . . hi!" The way this kid is talking is really starting to bug me; it's too broken and uneven.

I roll my eyes in annoyance. I hope he's not looking to befriend me. But if he is, oh well.

"Hey . . . hey . . . hey, you, I said . . . said 'hi.' You . . . you shouldn't ignore . . . ignore . . . ignore people. That's . . . that's . . . that's being rude," the kid says, his grin fading. "That's being . . . being . . . being rude." In response, I raise an eyebrow.

The kid's eyes suddenly widen, and he reaches out, grabbing one of my arms. He yanks on it and pulls me and my arm closer to him.

"Whoa! Your arm is all . . . all . . . all line-like! You got scars everywhere! What happened? Were you in a fight? Were you? 'Cause I bet that you were. I bet that you . . . you were, huh? Am . . . am I . . . am I right?"

I jerk my arm away from the kid. What the hell does this impudent brat think he's doing?!

"Fuck off," I growl. I cross my arms again and move ahead of the kid.

"Hey! You . . . you said the . . . the baddest of . . . of all the bad words! And . . . and you cut . . . cut in front of . . . of me! You are . . . are . . . are rude!" I ignore him. There is no point in giving a child like that my attention anymore.

As I stand in line, the kid continues to bug me. He attempts to lecture me on how I "said the baddest of all the bad words" and how I "cut in front of him." At some point he loses interest in that and tries to engage me in a conversation about my scars. I just continue to ignore him, hoping that he'll shut up very soon.

After I get my breakfast, which is just cereal and something that resembles toast, I walk over to the first empty table that I see. Thankfully that kid doesn't follow me to the table.

I sit down at the corner of the table and set my tray of food down. I pick up the spork that I was given with my cereal and study it closely.

If I'm patient enough, I might be able to give myself a _decent_ scar. Maybe . . .

I shake my head and put the spork down. There's too many people watching, and the spork will not give me the effect that I want. It just won't draw enough blood.

I open the carton of milk and then peel off the seal on my cereal. I pour some of the milk into the cereal. I set the milk carton down on the table and pick up the spork again. I begin to eat.

The Cheerios are really bland, even more bland than Cheerios usually taste. I want to get up and just throw the tray of food away, but I can't. One of the workers is leaning against a wall, trying to look subtle. But I can tell that she's keeping an eye on me. Me barely eating will simply raise some suspicion.

After I finish eating the Cheerios, I poke the "toast" with my spork. I don't particularly trust it; it barely looks like toast. I set my spork down anyway and pick it up.

I take a bite of the "toast." It's really dry and hard to swallow, so I almost choke a few times.

Once I'm finished eating the toast, I stand up and pick up the tray. I look around for the trashcans and find them over by the exit to the cafeteria. I walk as quickly as I can over there and toss the tray into one of them. I then return to that empty table and sit down once again. I rest my head on the table, waiting for breakfast to be over.

About fifteen minutes later, the worker that had been leaning against the wall walks over to me. She rests a hand on one of my shoulders.

"Hey- Um . . . Gumball? That is your name, correct?" I lift my head off of the table and look at the worker. I nod once, and she smiles at me. "Ah, okay. I'm going to be taking you to your new room, alright?"

"Alright," I mutter. I stand up.

"Let's go out that way," she says, pointing over to the double doors that I came in through. "The normal exit is always too crowded." I nod again.

We head to those double doors and exit the cafeteria. I follow the worker down the hallway. As we walk, she doesn't even bother in trying to engage me in a conversation, nor does she hold my hand, wrist, or shoulder.

The worker stops by one of the rooms. She jabs her thumb towards it.

"There's your new room," she says, and then she turns and walks away.

I let out a sigh and place a hand on the doorknob. I slowly turn the doorknob and open the door a crack, peeking into the room. A boy who looks about my age is laying on one of the twin-sized beds, reading a book. I push the door open the rest of the way, and the boy looks up at the creaking sound the door makes.

He cocks an eyebrow when he sees me. I step into the room and close the door behind me.

"You my new roommate?" The boy sits up. I nod once in response. "Oh. Well, I'm Jackson," he says before looking back down at his book.

I walk over to the other twin bed and sit down on the edge of it. I stare down at the ground.

"I can't help but notice that your arms are absolutely covered in scars." I look up to see Jackson closing his book. He tosses it onto his bed's pillow. I cross my arms. I say nothing in response to Jackson's comment.

Jackson sits cross-legged on his bed. "Y'know, I see cutters like yourself around here often, and I've always wanted to ask one of you guys what the point was. I mean, I tried cutting myself and it didn't do shit." He lifts up one of his arms to show me the large cuts slashed across his wrist. "It just caused a lot more pain than I was already dealing with."

I sigh in annoyance. "Oh well. Look, I do not feel like talking at the moment, alright? So just shut the hell up and go back to reading your book or whatever." I uncross my arms and lay down on the bed I'm sitting on.

Jackson snorts. "You're friendly," he grumbles.

I ignore him and close my eyes. I open them after a few moments; I'm not as tired as usual since I actually slept pretty decently last night. There's no point in taking a nap right now.

So I just lay there on the uncomfortable bed, my thoughts drifting towards Darwin.

I start to wonder what this whole ordeal has done to him. After all, I was pretty much unconscious when Darwin found me slowly bleeding to death. I'm certain most of the things I remember from that day are imagined.

Guilt suddenly shoots through me. I realize that Darwin cannot be handling this well at all.

Sorry, Darwin. I just got tired of feeling empty and hiding my arms from everyone and just living. Suicide sounded really nice at the time.

* * *

**And there is chapter two of Pretty Scars. Hope you enjoyed and all that fantastical shit. :3 **

**ANYWAY**

**Yeah. **

**Review or something and I shall see ya'll next time. **

**SAYOUNARA BITCHES **


End file.
